I am fast approaching my 37th birthday, despite my annual assertion that it is actually my 28th birthday (this year being my 10th annual 28th birthday). I’m not a big birthday person. Having it smack in the middle of Christmas and New Year’s means that no one ever wants to go out and party and even if they did, no one wants to spend the extra money. It’s not a big deal really and several years in the past I have actually forgotten my own birthday and I feel fine about that. What is on my mind this year is not necessarily a new thought, but it is one that seems to be occupying my mind more and more: as an adoptee, do my biological parents think about me on my birthday?
I was born in 1972 at a time when open adoptions were a radical idea and closed adoptions thought best in order to protect both the adoptive parents and shamed biological ones. I do not have an original birth certificate, only one issued after my adoption was finalized bearing the names of my adoptive parents. Back then, the primary goal of adoption agencies was to shield the participants in the adoption and no one really thought about the child’s rights or desires. I have long wondered about my biological family and have searched for them, though not to the extent that I’ve petitioned courts or hired private assistance.
For many people adoption is a foreign concept, one you read about, but it never touches your real life. As a childless adult adoptee I do not know a single person who is blood related to me. Any resemblance to my family is purely coincidental and there is no medical history to clue me in to possible genetic risks. In many ways I am very much alone in the world and that is something I have carried with me subconsciously. That sense of solitariness is likely why I often feel that my actions do not affect anyone, it has given me license to act out in ways that has hurt friends and family. I feel more alone every day because of the sheer accidental circumstances of my birth.
It may not be correct, but it is my reality. These days I am struggling with balancing my solitude with loved ones. I tend to either put up with too much, allowing friends’ opinions of me to dictate my self-worth or throwing it all out and marching forward regardless of who I might hurt. Maybe I would be a different person if my biological parents made an effort to contact me and let me know that they do indeed think of me, but it doesn’t really matter. I am a grown woman, not a helpless child and it’s time I stop needing my Mommy. I do get that and I’m trying to resolve it, but just like having your Mom with you when you’re ill doesn’t actually cure you, sometimes it makes you feel a whole lot better. It would be nice to know they care, but I’ll live either way.
My birthday is at Thanksgiving, so I understand how you feel. I used to feel sad about my birthday getting lost in the shuffle, but now I am indifferent. Maybe because I am "old" in my eyes. I don't look forward to my birthday anymore.
ReplyDeleteHaving given birth myself and having those experiences seared into my brain, I just cannot imagine that your birth mother doesn't think about you on your birthday. Obviously I could be wrong, but instinct tells me she will never forget you. She carried you inside her body for a very long time, you just don't forget something like that.